


This Is Where I Leave You

by effervescence_halcyon



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Superheroes, a big one, klance, please read and give feedback, plot will start forming in chapter two, season 8 was trash btw, the whole team is superheroes, this will be a ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effervescence_halcyon/pseuds/effervescence_halcyon
Summary: <.<<>>.>Keith, the hardest part is letting go.I’m letting go for you.;;;In which Lance and Keith are roommates, best friends, and secretly superheroes that haven’t been straightforward with each other, both about their secret vigilantism and their growing crushes on one other.Or: the one where four-year-old Lance accidentally stabs five-year-old Keith with a polka-dot umbrella in the stomach and things kind of snowball from there… until the snowball stops, all hell breaks loose, and all that’s left is the umbrella, the box, the letter, and only one boy left to stand in the downpour of New York.





	This Is Where I Leave You

**Author's Note:**

> AUTH NOTE: VERY IMPORTANT MUST READ THIS  
> >>the big italicized blurbs in second person sandwiched between the big ao3 line breaks (not ;;;) are broken up excerpts of a letter Lance wrote (with grammarly premium ofc) In The Furture
> 
> >>this is a pilot, so if you want me to continue, please click that kudos button and subscribe!! i’ll continue based on the response I get.
> 
> >> I’m a fourteen yo tot, so please be aware that I’m not yet in high school before flaming me. Constructive crit is welcome though!
> 
> >>no, this is not a suicide, not even death in the end (i like happy endings :3c)
> 
> >>this chapter and ~half the next one will be them as kids/high schoolers/college students, though certain elements in some scenes will be muy important later on

 

 

 

 

* * *

* * *

////

* * *

* * *

 

_ Hey Keith, _

 

_ You know that umbrella I had when we first met? The one I accidentally blew up and stabbed you with in the stomach back all the way in kindergarten? It’s in the box next to this envelope. I kept it that day after I bruised you. I didn't know why. All I remember was coming home and placing the umbrella in a cupboard so I could save it. For something. I didn’t know then. _

_ I think I do now. _

_ But you’ll never know why I kept the umbrella, will you? _

_ I mean, you don’t know now and I’m gone so you can’t bother me for the answer either! I’ve cheated the system! _

_ HA! I FINALLY WON! TAKE THAT, KOGANE! _

 

* * *

* * *

////

* * *

* * *

 

 

_ ;;; _

 

As a general statement, Keith did not like to be around other people.

 

Which, when you think about it, was probably not a good preference to have in kindergarten. According to his parents, it was “detrimental to child-growth” among other big words that they used to reprimand him, as if using big words would suddenly make Keith a socialite.

 

Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Keith just merely went from a young loner to a young loner that knew a couple big words.

 

Keith really wasn’t sure why it was such a big deal. It wasn’t like Keith was scared of people or anything: in fact, he could tolerate people themselves, he just didn’t… like their  _ emotions _ .

 

See, Keith liked constants. He liked predictability. Change was his number-one enemy, with mac ‘n’ cheese in a close second (it’s a long story, concerning bad cheese and a cup of sugar), and people’s emotions changed a  _ lot _ .

 

One minute they’ll be happy, the next minute sad, two minutes later angry, ten minutes later happy again: humans just can  _ not make up their mind  _ on how they feel. They tended to fluctuate more than the “stock-ing markeet” or whatever his dad and mom always screamed about in busy mornings.

 

Human emotions were weird and changed too fast, so can you really blame Keith for not particularly wanting to make friends?

 

Apparently, his teacher and parents said ‘yes’ to that question, so here Keith was in his kindergarten classroom with exactly one demand from his parents and teacher:  _ make friends. _

 

But he didn’t, partially because kindergarteners are weird in this town if his classmates’ behavior said anything (why would you stick LEGOs up your  _ nostrils _ ?) and partially because he was still a little kid that cared very little for following directions correctly.

 

What? He was five. Whoever thought he’d actually follow directions was too delusional to be telling him to do stuff anyway.

 

So after squeezing through the day in his little bubble without making friends or interacting with people beyond the requirement, Keith patted himself on the back and buttoned up his raincoat, easily slipping the buttons through their respective slits.

 

He zipped his backpack up, huffed, and walked out of the building under his banana-yellow umbrella, daydreaming about purple aliens and castle spaceships.

 

Naturally, since aliens are cooler than being aware of tor surroundings, Keith didn’t see the little polka-dot umbrella tip that was out to get him until it  _ jabbed him in the goddang stomach. _

 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t hiss a grown-up bad word when it stabbed him.

 

“OW!” Keith yelped, clutching his stomach.

 

There was a sharp tickle of pain near his belly button, not strong enough to for it to bleed or cause real damage but strong enough that he knew there was a black-blue bruise his porcelain skin.

 

“Sorry!” a boy in front of him said. He had tan skin and dark brown hair close-cropped to his head, and immediately Keith recognized him as Lance, a kid from his class. A closed polka-dot umbrella hung guiltily from his hand. 

 

“My umbrella is hard to open,” Lance explained. He flashed a small apologetic smile that Keith returned with a grimace.

 

“Give it to me,” Keith grumbled, holding out his hand.

 

“You’re… takin’ my umbrella?”

 

“What?” Keith peered at him incredulously. “No! I’m just opening it for you so you don’t hurted anybody else’s tummies.”

 

“Oh… okay.” Lance rubbed his neck sheepishly and handed over his rain accessory/weapon.

 

Easily, Keith popped it open. This wasn’t his first time doing so, after all: the Kogane household placed much importance on being independent and learning to live by one’s self. He’d been opening umbrellas since preschool when his classmates could barely hold them up correctly. If there was such a thing as an expert umbrella opener, Keith would be one.

 

“There you go,” Keith said curtly, “All good.”

 

“Oh! Thank you!”

 

Begrudgingly, Keith had to admit to himself that being thanked made him feel good. “Just learn how to opended your owned umbrella,” he grumbled.

 

“But I have no idea how,” Lance said, almost gloomily, and Keith was about to inform him that his parents’ were supposed to teach him when Lance’s face suddenly brightened, his eyebrows raising giddily to meet the rainwater-slicked bangs that were plastered on his forehead. “I know! You can teach me tomorrow, Keef!”

 

“Wha---” Keith started to protest. No! Human interaction was  _ bad _ ! He didn’t want to spend meaningful time tomorrow (that could be spent on LEGOs!) on Lance and his fudgsiciling umbrella!

 

“---Good!” Lance declared, “See you tomorrow at playtime!”

 

By the time Keith opened his mouth to reject the “offer”, Lance had already piled into his mom’s car and drove off, waving, leaving Keith to stand in the rain by himself, wonder what had just happened.

 

;;;

 

“ _ Keith, that’s not a spoonful.” _

 

“Yes it is, Takashi! See? The spoon is full!”

 

“Keith,  _ three peas _ in a spoon is not a spoonful.”

 

Chuckling, Keith’s dad walked in to join for dinner, hanging up his pink apron (a gift from Keith’s mom) on the little hook planted on the door. “What’re you boys arguing about now?”

 

Takashi rubbed his eyes, pushing the signature black floop of hair in the middle of his hairline up as he ran his hands through it. “Keith doesn’t want to eat his vegetables.”

 

His dad snorted. “What’s new?”

 

“I told him to eat at least three spoonfuls,” Takashi continued, looking at Keith pointedly and gesturing to his spoon. “So Keith decided to put  _ three peas _ in his spoon and informed me it was a  _ spoonful _ .”

 

“Hey! You’re only seven years older than me!” Keith grumbled, waving his spoon, “You don't get to tell me what to do!”

 

“Keith, listen to him,” his dad reprimanded. “He’s right. A spoonful is not three peas.”

 

Takashi grinned victoriously and winked at Keith’s scrunched nose and angry eyes. Despite their constant banter, Keith really loved Takashi Shirogane. They were cousins, as Takashi’s parents had died long ago, prompting him to move in with his uncle, but as a seventh grader that was much older than Keith, Takashi always seemed more of a third parent to Keith. Keith felt comfortable with him. Plus, although Keith would never admit this, he kind of viewed Takashi as his hero. He was smart and strong and cool, everything Keith wanted to be.

 

“C’mon, eat the three spoonfuls,” Takashi encouraged, a small smile on his face, “Don’t be a baby.”

 

“I’m not a baby!”

 

“Then eat your vegetables.”

 

“Fine,” Keith grumbled. He blew a raspberry to be difficult and shoved three real spoonfuls in his mouth. “I don’t like you, you know that?”

 

Takashi hummed, a small smile on his face as he placed his dishes into the sink and asked his ‘Aunt Krolia’ (it was always so weird when Takashi called Keith’s mom that!) if she needed any help. As always, she didn’t (Keith’s mom prided herself on independence), so Takashi waved over his shoulder and went upstairs to do his homework.

 

“Oh, Keith, how was your day?” his mom shouted from the kitchen after Takashi disappeared into his room with the click of his door lock.

 

“Yeah, did anything cool happen?” His father peered over his reading glasses at Keith, who squirmed in his seat uncomfortably.

 

Apparently, Keith’s dad misinterpreted Keith’s uneasiness: “Did you get in trouble, Keith?”

 

“No!” Keith quickly said, “I… talked-ed to someone.”

 

The book his dad was reading collapsed loudly to the table. “You made a friend! Good job, ‘lil alien! I knew you had it in you!”

 

His smile was contagious, so big that it was blinding, and his eyes crinkled at the corners happily. He hooked his elbow around Keith’s neck and ruffled his hair. It was a rare occurrence to see his dad this happy, but it definitely wasn’t unwelcome. Something in Keith got warm and fuzzy from realizing that he had made his dad proud.

 

That moment, as his dad ruffled his hair irritatingly,  _ that _ was when Keith decided it.

 

Before, he was planning to ditch Lance--- go to the bathroom, get a drink of water, hide in the bushes: he was willing to do anything but make himself a friend.

 

But when looking at his dad’s face, with his scarred eyebrow raised hopefully, and the proud glow in his mom’s indigo eyes, he felt this inexplicable feeling that made him want to make them proud. They wanted him to make a friend and, for some reason, Keith wanted to do what they wanted. He wouldn’t ditch Lance.

 

_ He wouldn’t ditch Lance.  _

 

That just might’ve been one of the best decisions in his life.

 

;;;

 

“All you have to do is push up the blacky knobby-thingy, Lance.” Using chubby fingers, Keith mimicked the movement to demonstrate. “Like that.”

 

Lance scrunched his eyebrows. “But that’s so hard,” he whined, “It won’t move.”

 

Keith hooked his fingers in the holes on the playground platform and sighed, looking down at the sloping slide next to him and the woodchip plain under it all.

 

His heart went out to Miss Gibbs: it was  _ hard _ to teach people! Forget Takashi, Miss Gibbs was his hero now! How did she manage to teach young children and not lose her mind? Keith was definitely losing his sanity and it had only been two minutes!

 

Needless to say, Keith was running out of patience with Lance.

 

“You just… push it up! There’s not that much else to doin’ it!”

 

“It’s hard, okay! Really, really hard.”

 

Internally, Keith groaned. He cupped his head in his hands and waited as Lance tried and tried again to no avail. See, this was why he didn’t like human interaction--- it always pissed him off, made him bored, and just was overall unpleasant.

 

“Whoa,” Lance said after two minutes of silence. “Is that a nebula?”

 

Keith’s head snapped up. His eyes followed Lance’s small outstretched index finger to his own shirt, which was, in fact, bearing a nebula. It was one of Keith’s favorite shirts, a gift from Takashi that he made sure to wear at least once a week. He would wear it more, but laundry cycles (and his mother) didn’t let him.

 

“That’s so cool!” Lance exclaimed as Keith still silently looked at his T-shirt, “I love space! I want to be a space pilot when I’m a growned-up!”

 

“What, really? I want to be one too!” Keith perked up, giddy excitement crawling up his chest.

 

“Mmhmm, I loovvee space, aliens, and ships and stars! My favorite show is Voltron! I even buyed the limited-edition figurines!”

 

Keith gaped. “You haved the  _ figurines _ ?”

 

“Yeah, they’re in my backpack, I can showed you!”

 

Yeah, so maybe Lance didn’t exactly learn how to open an umbrella and Keith didn’t exactly teach him, but at the end of the day, Keith got to play with amazing toys that were ten times more fun with Lance playing with him.

 

Maybe, Keith thought happily, making friends wasn’t as bad as he thought.

 

;;;

 

* * *

* * *

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* * *

* * *

 

_...okay, fine, Keith. Maybe I’ll tell you why I kept that ding-dang umbrella (which I had to learn to open on my own, thanks to your terrible teaching skills). But not until the very end of what will probably be a long-ass letter. _

_ I’m not going to lie, Mullet, I’m tearing up right now. Partially because of nostalgia and partially because I didn’t think that I would have the guts to write this. But here I am, writing while looking like a hot mess, but I’ll swallow my pride for now. Or not. I’m choking on my tears and I don’t think I can physically swallow anything right now.  _

_ Anyway, you know the box I mentioned? With the umbrella in it? It has more things than the umbrella. It’s… like a time capsule, almost. Except instead of being for a futuristic evolved creature it’s for you.  _

_ Don’t open it now. Read this first. It’ll only make sense at the very, very end. _

_ Okay, anywho, the box. There’s a lot of stuff in it, and since you’re not allowed to open it yet and BETTER NOT HAVE OPENED IT ALREADY YOU IMPATIENT DICK, I’ll just tell you what’s in it. I’ll explain it in chronological order: we’ve already gotten through the smol little kindergarten section, so here is the third grade part. _

_ Yes, I abruptly skipped three years. I limited myself to looking back on the day we first met, third grade, fifth grade, random times from high school, and college. Mostly because I have only a month to write this and I can’t possibly look back on every memory with you. I have too many memories with you to be able to do that and I don’t think I could stand that much nostalgia. _

_ Anyway. You already know the umbrella’s in there, but there’s something stuck in the flappy-section part (Y’know, the part that expands and makes the umbrella work?). It’s one of two third grade memory souvenirs. Wanna know what it is, Mullet? _

_ It’s an Easy Mac coupon. _

_ You’re welcome. _

_ I can’t see your expression right now but I bet that it’s priceless, so I’m going to take a break from this letter and go pray to any higher universal being to allow me to see you from the afterlife so I can laugh at your ridiculous face. _

_ Just ‘cause I’m probably dead when you read this doesn’t mean I’ll stop teasing you. You’ll never escape me, Mullet! _

_ Oh goddammit, I’m fully crying right now. Waterworks, I tell you. Our pet mouse from seventh grade could take a shower in my tears. At least I’m not sobbing nearly as much as I did when I sprained my finger pitching that tent during our first stargazing convention, but in my defense, that experience hurt like a bitch! _

_ That’s one of my favorite memories, you know. Not me jamming my finger, obviously, but that convention. It happened almost immediately after the mac ‘n’ cheese episode, remember? _

_ Seeing a comet shower for the first time with you was amazing. Back then, though I don’t know if you could tell, I was really, really insecure. I had a lot of friends, yeah, but I always felt that they weren’t real ones, y’know? I always felt they were temporary. Flimsy. Using me as a placeholder for people they really wanted to spend time with. Maybe that’s why I found so many excuses to spend time with you like that admittedly terrible mac ‘n’ cheese incident. You were one of the only friends I thought was more permanent: our friendship felt strong, stronger than most. _

_ I never wanted to lose that kind of friendship. _

_ I still don’t, though I don’t suppose it’s exactly a choice anymore. _

_ Okay, that got sad quickly, movin’ on… yeah. That convention. Remember when we put up the tent? That was when I sprained my finger like the little dumbass I was. You got me to stop crying, with a red and blue band aid (which wasn’t meant to treat a sprained finger) and made up magic that manage to placate me. That time, that place, that was when I knew you were going to be a forever for me. _

_ Now, you’re probably crying as much as me right now, so you probably haven’t asked yourself why I even remember this shit, so I’ll just ask for you: Why do I remember this shit? Because, yes, I know, I always say that I don’t remember when you bring up some memory or bonding time, but those were just lies. Why? … Well, this is going to sound so cheesy, so brace yourself. _

_ I always said I didn’t remember because... I wanted you to tell it to me again. In your own words. With your voice. _

_ I don’t know. When we were new friends back in kindergarten and first grade, I liked to hear you talk, and I usually jumped at any chance to get you to speak. After a while, I got comfortable with you and didn’t purposefully do that anymore, but I still liked hearing you talk I guess? It kind of became a habit. I like your voice. And your smile. Heck, I just like  _ you _. So yeah. I lied to you about every memory we’ve shared because I liked your voice. _

_ Sorry. _

_ (Not Sorry! Go Demi Lovato!) _

_ In my defense, your storytelling is hilarious! You always got me to stop crying by just telling a little anecdote or something because I loved hearing your voice that much. Sue me for wanting more stories out of you, even ones the I was there for. _

_ The ring I got as a souvenir (item 2 for third grade) from the convention is also in the box, around the handle of the umbrella. It was really weird putting it in the box, all water-damaged and shit, though I didn’t take it off for more than five minutes at a time for sixteen years so that isn’t much of a surprise. My hand tingles right now where the ring is supposed to be. It was like a part of my hand before so it feels like I’ve lost a fucking finger or something. Kind of pathetic, huh? Missing your cliche matching-BFF-jewelry accessory? _

_ Doesn’t matter, though. I want you to have it. No need to bury it with me to the grave. Even without that ring or breathing lungs, I’ll still be your best friend. Promise. _

 

* * *

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* * *

* * *

 

_ ;;; _

 

“You don’t like Easy Mac?!”

 

Keith rolled his eyes at Lance, repositioning himself on the kitchen counter so that he was sitting comfortably on the cold marble of the peninsula. “This is not the first time I’ve told you about how I don’t like mac ‘n’ cheese, Lance.”

 

“Well, yeah, but Easy Mac is  _ meant _ to be loved,” Lance insisted, “How can you not like it?”

 

“Uh… it’s gross?”

 

This time, it was Lance’s bright blue eyes that rolled, a little exasperated huff escaping his lips. He propped himself up next to Keith on the kitchen counter and nudged their shoulders together. 

 

“No child just ends up hating Easy Mac without some kind of story behind it.” Lance poked Keith in the side, right under his ribcage, grinning. “So? Eh? What’s the story?”

 

“... It’s a long story.”

 

“C’mon, we got time,” Lance prodded, smiling widely as Keith gave him a look and picked at his jeans. “Give me the deets!”

 

Even at eight years old, Lance was a bit of a gossip. It was really no surprise to Keith, considering that Lance was one of the most popular kids in class and had friends upon friends. Too many for Keith to count.

 

He always knew that they looked weird together, the antisocial kid and the overly social kid, but Keith and Lance made it work. And even though Lance had so many friends, Keith knew that he was the one Lance spent the most time with (“You’re my best friend, Keith! I  _ have _ to spend more time with you!”).

 

However, apparently, spending more time with Lance entailed relieving pretty traumatic experiences about noodles and the melted form of pressed curds of milk.

 

“Okay, fine,” Keith relented, ignoring Lance’s unnecessarily loud ‘ _ whoop _ !’, “It started with my mom, who didn’t learn how to cook right until last year, but this was like five years ago. So she accidentally cooked this mac ‘n’ cheese with bad cheese and might’ve put a cup of sugar in the mix…”

 

“Oh  _ god _ . I thought I was going to hear a funny story, not a horror story!”

 

Lance’s dramatic expression was comical, featuring bugged-out eyes, a gaping mouth, and upturned eyebrows, the perfect mix to look like a horrified cartoon character straight from Cartoon Network. 

 

Keith huffed. “I got food poisoning from it. Diarrhea galore.”

 

“Ah,  _ there’s _ the funny part.”

 

Keith groaned and predictably walloped Lance in the upper arm, though he’d be lying if he said it had real spite behind it.

 

;;;

 

“I’ve made it my personal mission to make you love mac ‘n’ cheese,” Lance said from behind a paper bag full of what Keith would guess as ingredients for the aforementioned dish, “It’s now my duty to help introduce you to the non-poisonous side of this holy meal!”

 

Keith’s eyebrows rocketed up until they had melted into his black bangs.  _ Oh, quiznak. _

 

In all truthfulness, he had expected Lance to come up with something like this after he shared that story, but walking to his house (they lived only a couple houses away from each other, so no bikes were needed) with mac ‘n’ cheese at 7:00 in the morning on a Saturday, when Keith was the only one who woke that early (his family tended to sleep in like no tomorrow)? Weird, but okay.

 

“Dude,  _ say _ something,” Lance whined, “I need help.”

 

Even though Lance couldn’t see, Keith rolled his eyes fondly and opened the door, taking ahold of the bag and placing on the island in his kitchen.

 

Lance followed, wearing the same Voltron pajamas Keith was wearing (they bought it together--- it was  _ their _ shared favorite show after all!). Vigorously, Keith rubbed his eyes, blinking out the sleepiness in them.

 

“You woke up at 6:30 on a Saturday to give me mac ‘n’ cheese?” Keith asked incredulously, turning to face Lance. “What happened to your oh-so-important beauty sleep?”

 

Now, Keith wasn’t  _ actually _ upset at Lance. As the two of them had gotten older, they had adopted a dynamic of friendship that consisted of heaps of harmless and useless bickering. They tended to tease and argue with each other a lot during the day, although it was always good-natured and never meaningful.

 

Yeah, sure, their friendship was a bit weird, but did work for them and Keith wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

Lance pouted. “No ‘Hey’ or ‘Thanks for coming to enlighten me about great food’? Is this how you greet your best friend ever-ever-ever?”

 

Keith pretended to think for a moment. “Yes. Yes it is.”

 

“That’s sad.”

 

“Your  _ face  _ is sad.”

 

“Says the guy who hates mac ‘n’ cheese because of an incident when he was three!”

 

“Diarrhea is no joke, Lance!”

 

Seemingly despite himself, Lance giggled, saying, “You said diarrhea!” He snickered more, a contagious smile overlaying his face that moved all of the sparse freckles near his nose closer to the crinkle of his eyes.

 

Keith meant to frown at him but ended up matching the smile. Lance’s smiles had always been contagious: if you were ever on the other side of one of his grins, it was like some puppeteer up above had made you a marionette and was pulling up the corners of your mouth. It was almost impossible not to smile when Lance was, initially much to Keith’s chagrin but later to Keith’s intrigue.

 

“What, Lance? Are you a seven year old now? Giggling at potty words?”

 

“Hey, I turned eight  _ two months  _ ago, excuse you!”

 

“Oh,  _ right _ . You’re still a baby...”

 

“You are  _ eight months _ older than me, you  _ fudgesicle---- _ ”

 

“Lance?” someone interrupted from behind, causing Keith to start a little.

 

Keith looked behind with a bit of paranoia before sighing when he saw his fifteen-year-old cousin there instead of a murderer or some maniac. Though, Keith figured, if there  _ had _ been a murderer then the smell of stinky cheese emanating from Lance’s bag would probably have scared the killer off in the first place, so either way they would’ve been safe.

 

Takashi knocked on the doorframe that connected the hallway and the kitchen, lilac eye bags hanging from the bottom of his eyes, an unfortunate consequence of high school. “Lance, what are you doing here?”

 

Waving, Lance flashed a friendly grin. “Shiro!”

 

Takashi’s eyebrows rose in a  _ it’s-too-early-for-this-shit  _ manner before asking politely, “Does your mother know you’re here?”

 

“Nope! Snuck outta the house like a ninja!” Lance responded proudly, “Mama would never let me out this early by myself. But that’s okay because I’m on a mission sent by the mac ‘n’ cheese gods!”

 

If it wasn’t already obvious, Lance ended up having to go home and was sentenced to a week of grounding for sneaking out of the house at seven in the morning with food , and Keith had to go put away the brown bag of ingredients while Takashi rubbed his temples like an old man trying to grasp how elementary aged children functioned.

 

;;;

 

“Okay! Operation Mac ‘n’ Cheese, take two, is a go!”

 

Keith huffed in a fashion that was meant to express annoyance but only sounded fond. “Lance, the last time you---”

 

“--- _ We _ , mind you, you were there too---”

 

“That’s now how it works---” Keith started to counter before reconsidering his words, “Fine, the last time  _ we _ attempted this you got grounded for a week. Besides, aren’t the ingredients expired by now?”

 

“No idea,” Lance answered cheerfully, extending his index finger and thumb to pinch some of the shredded cheese before them.

 

“Oh geez, Lance, that’s gross,” Keith groaned when Lance popped the cheese in his mouth. Keith’s eyes were glued to Lance’s face, too disgusted to be enjoying watching but also too curious of the end result to look away.

 

Amazingly, Lance swallowed without collapsing to the ground unconscious. “It tastes fine,” Lance informed happily, “Let’s get our cook on!”

 

“You won’t let this go until we do it, huh?”

 

“Nope!”

 

;;;

 

“This is your own fault,” Keith deadpanned over his mom’s phone.

 

Lance’s voice crackled through the speaker, too loud, as if he was holding the phone too close to his mouth. “Is that really how you talk to your best friend that’s so sick with food poisoning he can’t get up? Plus, it was your kitchen, so it's your fault!”

 

“You realize you cooked it so it’s actu----”

 

“Oh,  _ no no no no _ .  _ No.  _ You’re guilty on your kitchen’s behalf!”

 

“ _ Lance, I swear...” _

 

_ ;;; _

 

The week or two that Lance had been MIA for were extremely, extremely,  _ extremely _ boring, and that was an understatement.

 

It had only been two days so far, but the boredom was excruciating to Keith. He spent most of those two days attempting to watch his favorite shows, play with his favorite toys, teaching himself a backflip off YouTube (pro tip: don’t do that unless you want a bruise and absolutely no skill improvement), but nothing was the same. Nothing was as fun or entertaining or felt right; it was always like something was missing.

 

Lance, evidently, was a big part of his life. And Keith, evidently, couldn’t function without him.

 

Keith rolled over on the couch, groaning. “Takashi, play with me!” he whined loudly, “I’m _ bored.” _

 

“Just because your friend is puking his guts out from bad mac ‘n’ cheese doesn’t mean that my homework has magically disappeared,” Takashi called back from the office room, a hint of amusement in his voice.

 

“ _ Why not?” _

 

“That’s… just not how it works, buddy.”

 

“You should’ve never went to high school.”

 

“It’s a little late for that, Keith. And illegal.”

 

The alarm system on their house beeped as a door opened. Keith didn’t have to peer over the couch to know it was his mom; nobody else wore heel-boot shoes that made tiny clicks on tile flooring.

 

Unlike most households Keith’s seen on TV, his dad was a stay-at-home parent (former firefighter, but that’s another story) while his mom worked. She did something with the company  _ Marmora _ , which Keith is pretty sure to be some kind of war relief organization. Though, sometimes, he liked to pretend that his mom was an alien and her ‘work’ was actually fighting in an intergalactic war. Personally, Keith thought she would make a pretty purple alien warrior.

 

...Yeah, maybe his mom was right when she said Keith had an overactive imagination.

 

Or maybe she was wrong, because surely his alleged overactive imagination should somewhat be subbing in for Lance as entertainment if it existed, right? But  _ no _ , here Keith was, bored as heck, so if he did have an overactive imagination then it was not doing it's goddamn job.

 

“I hate mac ‘n’ cheese,” Keith announced to nobody in particular, “It gave me diarrhea  _ and _ kidnapped my best friend.”

 

The only response to his grousing was a small  _ plop!  _ behind him that signaled his mom had put down her purse. Two shoes were kicked haphazardly in the closet, and a long sigh was let out to mingle with the cold air of the room. His mom may not be an alien warrior, but Keith knew she worked just as hard as one.

 

She blinked tiredly. “I got tickets. Three.”

 

“To the stargazing convention?” Keith bolted up to his feet.  _ Finally,  _ something good! “So Takashi is coming with us?”

 

“Nope,” Keith’s mom said, earning a pout from Keith, “Your cousin has a school project to work on. He can’t skip school Monday three weeks from now---”

 

Even though Takashi couldn’t see him, Keith pointedly glared at the office door and hoped that the message  _ see-I-told-you-not-to-become-a-high-schooler  _ would convey through the mahogany. Screw high school. Mark Keith’s words, one day when he was legally allowed to, Keith was going to drop out of school. Ugh.

 

“---so instead, I’ve asked Lance’s mom if Lance could go with us instead.”

 

Keith blinked once, twice, and then, “ _ What? Really?!” _

 

A stargazing convention with his best friend? Wow! Sign him up! It would be Lance’s first convention ever, which Keith thought would be super cool. Keith couldn’t wait to drag Lance everywhere to see the telescopes and tents and maps and----

 

“Wait,” Keith said, interrupting his own thought train, “Did his mom say yes?”

 

“She said maybe. Depends on his food poisoning and if it goes away in time.”

 

So that’s the story behind how Keith ended up screaming over the landline, “ _ GET BETTER YOU QUIZNAK!”  _ into Lance’s ear. Yes, it probably had no effect and was overall unnecessary, but when his mom happily informed him a week later that Lance’s mom had called to give permission for the convention, Keith couldn't care less.

 

;;;

 

The car ride to the stargazing convention had been difficult, to say the least.

 

The whole time Lance’s face was twisted up into an ugly expression as if he was about to projectile puke the whole time they whizzed far away from the city. Keith could tell his mom was getting antsy as she fussed over his best friend for the entire ride, asking if he needed any medicine or a puke bag. He ended up needing both, but once Keith distracted him with cheesy car games Lance’s gut and face seemed to relax.

 

“Are you sure it's not from the mac ‘n’ cheese?” Keith asked when they stumbled out of the car.

 

The unfortunate incident Keith was referencing had occured only a week or two ago. Only just a couple days ago did Lance’s mom give permission to Keith’s mom to take the two boys out to a stargazing convention over the weekend and Monday. Lance’s food poisoning was probably gone, but Keith couldn’t help feeling unsure.

 

He got no reply so he glanced at Lance to see what he was up to. Lance had gotten down on his knees and was kissing the ground, though Keith nor his mother spared him a second glance at it. After some years with dramatic as heck Lance, one can get immune to basic things like sucking the hardened tar of parking lots.

 

When Lance didn’t answer since he was still making out with the pavement, Keith’s mom answered for him: “It should be gone by now.” His mom set a comforting hand on Keith’s shoulder.

 

He was still uneasy, but Keith let it go. Lance finally got up from his make-out session and pulled out his own duffel with a sigh of relief. They started walking away from the car into the designated clearing nearby, Keith’s eye catching onto the telescope stations when they were closer. 

 

“Look!” He tugged on Lance’s sleeve. “Telescopes!”

 

“Whoa!”

 

They went on like that, Keith pulling Lance left and right to make sure he saw everything and anything until his mom had found a good place to set up the tent. She hadn’t wanted any help from the two boys, but they both kept insisting that they help until she ended up handing over the tools.

 

“Be careful!” she warned, “They’re dangerous! Don’t jam your finger!”

 

Which, probably, was why it was so ironic when Lance hurt himself not even a minute into setting up the tent. Lance screamed out, falling on his bottom.

 

Keith almost sniggered until he saw the hot tears going down his best friends face and started to panic instead. Lance started sobbing, and Keith froze, unsure of what to do.

 

His mom rushed over to the mess that was Lance and made him calm down, though by the redness in her ear Keith knew she was also panicking a little, though he didn’t know if it was because of the injury itself or because that Lance was like another child to her and she didn’t like to see him cry. “It’s okay, calm down,” she cooed as she led him to a stump to sit on.

 

Lance calmed down after hiccupping on his tears, soft little  _ hic! _ noises that made Keith frown in sympathy.

 

“Keith, look after Lance,” his mom ordered sternly, “I’m getting the medic.”

 

She left to find the medic and Keith sat down on the ground next to Lance, criss-cross applesauce.

 

He patted Lance’s back and asked, “Can I see the finger?”

 

“O--Okay,” Lance said, lip still quivering. He extended his arm slowly.

 

Keith outwardly cringed. Lance’s finger was definitely sprained, all bloated and purple and dark, and Lance started to  _ hic! _ again, probably because of Keth’s reaction.

 

Now, comforting people was definitely not Keith’s forte, and normally he wouldn’t even think about doing it, but something about one of his only friends sobbing in excruciating pain compelled him to at least try.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, the first time I went to a convention, I got lost,” Keith said.

 

Lance’s sniffles melted away into the quiet buzzing of mosquitoes until he seemed relatively calm, his red eyes seeming intrigued by the start of Keith’s story.

 

Keith paused and continued after giggling to himself for a moment: “I don’t remember it very much of it. I had gotten lost in the woods after chasing a squirrel that had taken Takashi’s Clif bar like a stupid toddler and couldn’t find my way back. I think I had this panic attack after screaming for my mom didn’t work so instead I had decided to just curl up on the ground like a fruit roll-up and cry silently.” 

 

A snort from Lance made a smile bloom on Keith’s face, even if the snort was at his younger self’s expense and sounded more like an aggressive sniffle than a snort.

 

“I only got found when this park ranger stepped on my sleeping body three hours later. Got a nasty bruise from that I almost missed the star part too!” Keith lightly punched Lance’s shoulder in an attempt to be playful and hopefully make him feel better. “At least you get a cool bandage or something! All I got was a bruise and I didn’t even get the bar back from the squirrel!”

 

Lance laughed, and Keith was extremely satisfied with himself or a quick second, but Lance started whimpering immediately afterward, having moved his finger while laughing at Keith’s little anecdote.

 

Keith hugged him awkwardly and looked around for the first aid kit. He definitely wasn’t a doctor, but didn’t a band-aid fix everything?

 

He shifted through the kit once he found it two feet behind him. “Aha!” Keith said, turning around, “I found a red and blue band-aid!”

 

Thankfully, Lance’s lip stopped quivering when he saw the band-aid Keith was holding up as evidence. 

 

Keith scooched over and peeled the covering from the adhesive and pushed it gently on the sprain.

 

“See? The band-aid is our favorite colors. Blue cor you, red for me. That means it’ll heal twice as fast,” Keith declared. 

 

Lance smiled up at him, eyes shining with tears that didn’t drop, and Keith mentally patted himself on the back.

 

They sat there, the two of them, side by side, Lance sniffling occasionally but not crying.

 

Until, that is, Keith’s mom came with the medic dragged behind her and they were informed that band-aids did not, in fact, fix everything, and that sprained fingers were not fixable by red and blue bandaids. However, the band-aid had gotten Lance to stop crying for a good amount of time and as far as Keith was concerned that meant the band-aid had done its job.

 

He may have missed the whisper of, “ _ Thank you,”  _ Lance directed at him, but Keith felt the wave of timid gratitude all the same.

 

;;;

 

“I have a question,” Keith said, looking at the pajama-clad Lance in front of him. They were sitting on Keith’s sleeping bag, aimlessly chatting and playing with their stuffed animals while waiting for the night sky to get darker so the stars could come out.

 

“Shoot,” said Lance.

 

Pulling his stuffed toys (the Red Lion and Black Lion, both from Voltron) to his chest, Keith asked, “Why do you call Takashi ‘Shiro’?”

 

“Uh… everyone calls him that, Keith.”

 

“Yeah, but  _ why _ ? Where did ‘Shiro’ even come from?”

 

“His last name! ‘Shirogane’, take off the ‘-gane’.” Lance’s hand that didn’t bear a splint pulled in his own stuffed toys (the Blue Lion and Red Lion, both from Voltron as well) and nestled his chin on top of their heads. “They just nicknamed his last name.”

 

“But… my name ends in ‘-gane’ too. Kogane. What does that make me, then? ‘ _ Ko _ ’?”

 

He realized his mistake when Lance’s eyes widened more than he thought was humanly possible.

 

Oh,  _ quiznak _ .

 

Trying to backtrack, Keith threatened, “I swear, Lance, don’t get any ideas--”

 

“---TOO LATE! I GOT IDEAS,  _ KO _ !”

 

Lance lunged at him, smiling, and Keith fell back as Lance pinned him down with his good hand, tickling his sides so Keith was too distracted to push him away. 

 

“I got you,  _ Ko _ !” Lance giggled, but it was drowned by Keith’s snort-laughs as Lance tickled under his rib cage and even his armpits. See, that’s the downside of having best friends: they know  _ all _ your tickle spots and had no qualms about exploiting them.

 

Apparently, Keith had sounded like he was dying, and some very concerned stargazer had popped in t the tent to see two boys roughhousing. 

 

“Oh, are you two okay?” the woman asked, “My name is Miss Honey. Do I need to get your chaperone?”

 

Simultaneously, the boys answered, “No,” a little too quickly to seem innocent. The woman narrowed her bright hazel eyes at them, pale hair pooling forward over her shoulder.

 

“Well, it's almost time to see the stars, so I’d call your mom so you two rowdy kids can go see,” the woman said before ducking away from their tent, leaving the two boys alone, Lance quickly whispering in Keith’s ear about how scary ‘Miss Honey’ was and how he didn’t know if he could eat Honey Bunches anymore because of the bad vibes from that lady. 

 

Keith agreed and shivered. Bad vibes indeed.

 

Not more than three minutes had passed until Keith’s mom’s purple and red highlights (let’s just say her former stylist had an accident with permanent dye and that his mom doesn’t go to that salon anymore) popped in the door slit-thing and said, “Time to go, kiddos!”

 

“Okay!” Lance said excitedly, jumping up and dragging Keith up with him.

 

Next to him, Lance was shaking with anticipation, something Keith could relate to--- even though he was only four at the time he still remembered his first time at a stargazing convention. It had been what had gotten him interested in space in the first place. He still remembers seeing the vast black scattered with white dots, wishing he could fly up there and touch them, an itch lingering on his fingertips that longed to reach up and up and up towards the winking inky blackness of the universe.

 

He’d be lying if sleep wasn’t pulling at his eyelids, adamant that since it was midnight, Keith needed to hit the hay, but pure excitement warded it off. Lance’s non-splint hand tightened on his own, and Keith squeezed back, tilting his head up to finally see what they escaped the city for. 

 

He doesn’t miss the high-pitched squeak that could only come from lil eight-year-old Lance as he takes in the sparkling sky above him. Inwardly, Keith matched it, his gaze drifting from one star to the next until he’s scoured every single star twice and then leans his head back to look at the whole big picture.

 

“One day, we’ll touch the stars,” Lance whispered in his ear as they walk back an hour later, “I promise.”

 

Mark his words, Keith was going to hold him to that promise.

 

;;;

 

“Those are so tacky and cheesy, Lance,” Keith teased, looking down at the jeweled ring centered in Lance’s palm, glinting in the dim lights of the shop in the town nearby to the convention.

 

“So?” Lance shrugged and grinned. “What’s wrong with cheesy?”

 

Keith looked at him for a quick moment, trying to scour Lance’s expression for sincerity, and smiled widely, picking up the red ring from Lance’s palm. His grin grew wider when Lance picked up the ring’s counterpart, identical except for the blue jewel that replaced red jewel on Keith’s.

 

“Best friend rings?” Lance asked, nudging Keith’s shoulder.

 

_ “So cheesy.” _

 

“Again, what’s wrong with being cheesy?”

 

Keith looked briefly into Lance’s eyes again, but this time, Keith had a real answer: “Absolutely nothing.”

 

;;;

 

* * *

* * *

////

* * *

* * *

 

_ Because that’s what best friends do, right? Stay together forever. And, personally, I think forever extends beyond the barrier between life and death. _

_ Well damn! That was poetic! If I wasn’t going to die in the near future I’d become a poet. Make sure to say that when you deliver my eulogy, yeah? I want people to know a  _ potential poet  _ just died. Never mind my night job that I still don’t have the guts to tell you about yet even through paper: I should be known for my talent of poetry! Why did I even go to flight school? I should’ve become a poet from the very start! _

_ Is this how it usually is when you know you’re about to die? You realize major regrets like not becoming a poet? Because, damn, I have a lot of regrets now that I know I’m going to be going to heaven soon. _

_ Geez. I get pretty distracted a lot during these letters, huh? To be fair, that’s not really my fault. I just have a lot to say to you, Keith. A whole lot. And I swear, I would tell you in person, but if I see you and your face and just  _ you  _ in general _ ,  _ I don’t think I could go through my plan. And my plan is vital. For the greater good. _

_ See, I’ve always told you that you have way too much of a hero complex. _

_ And you do, I’m not taking that back, it’s just that… I have it too. _

_ It makes me a hypocrite, yep, but at least you’ll understand why I did what I had to in the end. You’ll be angry, yes, livid. You’ll probably find some way to blame everyone and even yourself but I need you to know that whatever happens is not your fault nor anyone else’s. _

_ I know that above all you’ll be angry at me. It hurts for me to think about how much I’m about to hurt you. I’m going to deserve your anger and you’ll know it, but knowing you I also know that you’ll understand why what had happened needed to happen. I don’t have a shadow of the doubt that you would do the very same thing I’m going to do if you were in my shoes. _

_ I wish it didn’t have to be this way. But it is this way and I can’t do shit about it. For that alone I’m sorry. _

_ I’ll come back to these vague words later. I can’t deal with setting out too much emotion at a time. As I’ve said, I have too much to say to you to get it all out and then end with an intact mental state. So I hope I’m not ticking you off too much. Bear with me, okay? _

Please _. _

_ Anywhoozers. Fifth grade is next on my list here, so ahoy to nostalgia again. There are just so many from the fifth grade hence the huge ziploc (marked ‘#5’) of things I put in the box. Lollipops, fencing trophies, Oreos; the epitome of lower middle school. _

_ I honestly couldn’t choose a specific memory to look back on. Karate? Fencing? Blow Pops? If I took every memory from the fifth grade I treasured and wrote it here, this letter would be about fifteen pages longer than it should be. Too long, yet somehow too little. I honestly want to look on every memory, even the bad ones, that I’ve had with you. After all, every memory with you is worth being kept, eh? _

_ Goddammit, Kogane. Look what you’ve done! You made Lance, suave bisexual extraordinaire, into a sappy puddle. _

_ Not going to lie, though. You did that long before I decided to go play sacrifice. _

_ Shit. I did it  _ again _. Lance McClain, sappy puddle, nice to meet you. This is what I’ve turned out to be. Quiznak. _

_ Anyway (I overuse this word, right? Uh…), right, fifth grade memories. They’re too amazing to even convey. I don’t think I could do them justice on paper, so you can remember this batch by yourself. They were just that good. I’d like to live them again. After all, ten year old Lance was pretty cute, don’t ya think? _

 

* * *

* * *

////

* * *

* * *

 

;;;

 

“Can you  _ believe,  _ Keith? First day of fifth grade! We’re  _ double digits _ now!” Lance clapped his hands together. “We’re practically  _ grown ups _ .”

 

“I’m not sure being ten counts as a grown up, Lance,” Keith said dryly while smashing his face into Lance’s mattress again. The  _ Nemo  _ design felt scratchy on his face as he closed his eyes and laid face-down on the stitched ocean ecosystem, slightly regretting his decision to come to Lance’s house before the school bus came.

 

When Keith got simple jostling as his response, no comeback nor quip, he lifted his face curiously. “Lance?”

 

“Ah, quiznak,” Lance grumbled aloud, examining his head, “My hair is ruined.”

 

Keith squinted at him. Was he joking? It hadn’t changed in the last thirty seconds in the slightest. It still looked soft and shiny from Lance’s favorite conditioner, and it’s orientation that Lance had spent the last twenty minutes painstakingly perfecting hadn’t moved a single millimeter.

 

“... No, it isn’t?” Keith meant to deadpan it, but his confusion at Lance’s seriousness tinged his tone more questioning than intended.

 

“Really?”

 

“Oh my god,  _ stop _ ,” Keith groused, “ _ We have to go. _ We can’t miss the goddang bus on the first day, Lance.”

 

Lance’s mouth opened, no doubt to contradict Keith, but the look Keith shot him seemed to make him reconsider.

 

“Fine. But if this look gets messed up, I will be so mad.” Lance got up, shouldered his Nemo backpack, and opened the bedroom door, flying down the stairs.

 

Keith followed closely, speeding up when he heard the uncanny rumble of the school bus tearing down the lane. He skidded to the front door at opened it, though not before he grabbed his red jacket he had brought with him this morning when he was going to Lance’s. He hung it in his forearm and ran out.

 

Lance had already boarded the bus when Keith was climbing the stairs. He spotted Lance’s waving hand from the smack middle of the bus and slided into the seat next to him, huffing.

 

“A jacket, Keith?” Lance asked, “It's still summer, you know.”

 

“Just in case,” Keith said offhandedly.

 

Lance’s reply was soaked with sarcasm. “Yes,  _ of course, _ because there might be some sudden harsh wind or something in the middle of what Channel 8 called ‘ _ the hottest week of the summer’.” _

 

Keith shrugged. “You never know.”

 

Lance laughed, a big and clear laugh that sounded so familiar after all those five years, and Keith let out a small laugh. Fifth grade, he knew, was going to be a great year.

 

;;;

 

The biggest jump from fourth to fifth grade was, interestingly, not the multiple teachers/classrooms concept.

 

Instead, it was the mass of new people. For the most part, Keith he managed to cower behind Lance, who was absolutely  _ loving _ all the new people to target his socializing and flirting skills. Recently, Lance had started watching romance shows and was now enraptured by the idea of romance, hence his keenness on trying to find his soulmate before he even finished middle school.

 

Right now, the two of them were at indoor recess since the playground outside was still under construction. They, coincidentally, had all the same classes, and Keith already had to put up with Lance’s flirting for an entire three hours. Understandably, he was a little exasperated.

 

“You realize there’s a, I don’t know, _ next to zero _ percent chance that the love of your life is in this room now, right?” Keith asked after watching Lance flirt with yet another girl.

 

“Aw, c’mon Keith! There are so many people here! Get yourself out there!  _ Flirt with a girl _ !”

 

Keith surveyed the little batches of girls everywhere (what was up with chicks and sticking in groups?). None of them looked particularly appealing to him, which was no surprise. He’d never really found a girl attractive. Yeah, he knew it was weird, but that was the truth. Attractive girls have just not come his way.

 

“None of them look that attractive,” Keith answered honestly.

 

“ _ What _ . They’re all so pretty! Okay, look at the blonde girl over there with purpley eyes. Her name’s Nyma. She turned me down, but that doesn’t change that she’s pretty as heck!”

 

Squinting, Keith looked at her. Aesthetically, yes, she looked nice. Attractively… not so much. “I don’t see it, Lance.”

 

“ _ How?” _

 

Ignoring Lance’s incredulous look, Keith’s eye snagged on the principal, Mr. Biibohbi,  from across the room, who stood out in his green suit and extremely skinny stature (he looked like a turquoise alien noodle or something!). He had some kind of lollipop in his hand, and once he moved his thumb to hand out one of the goodies, Keith got a good glance at the wrapper:  _ Blow Pops.  _

 

“Lance!” Keith tugged at Lance’s shirt. “Blow Pops!”

 

“Blow Pops?” Lance’s head turned so fast Keith was mildly worried that he’d broken his neck from whiplash, though Keith supposed that dying because of looking for candy wasn’t the worst easy to go.

 

“Yeah! Look at Mr. Biibohbi!”

 

Lance’s eyes widened when he saw them. “Keith, I’ve  _ never _ been more grateful for your disinterest in girls.”

 

Pausing to punch Lance’s shoulder in retaliation for the tease, Keith made a beeline for Mr. Biibohbi, Lance’s footsteps just behind in pace with his own. They skidded in front of the principal, who placed two Blow Pops into their awaiting palms.

 

As they walked away, they announced their flavours. “Blue Raspberry,” Keith said.

 

Lance turned his Blow Pop to look at the little designs, his mouth corners turning downwards when he saw the flavour. “Cherry.”

 

Wordlessly, they switched, knowing that each lollipop was the other person’s favorite. Quickly, they ripped away the wrappers, throwing them over their shoulders haphazardly, probably much to Mr. Biibohbi’s distress. Throwing trash away didn’t seem as important to most ten-year-old children when delicious candy was before them, and Keith and Lance were no exception.

 

Keith licked his nice and slow, savouring the flavour.  _ Mmm.  _ Blow Pops had always been a favorite of Keith’s, probably because Lance loved them so much: Lance’s house was forever and always stocked with the brand of lollipop, and it had been common for them to eat the stash whenever Keith came over. And Keith usually came over every two days, so Blow Pops were almost a daily delicacy that neither of the two boys got tired of.

 

… Okay,  _ wow _ . At least Keith has now finally realized why his dentist’s eye always twitches during his mouth clean-ups.

 

“ _ Mmm _ , this is  _ good,”  _ Lance announced.

 

Keith hummed in agreement. These lollipops were the real stuff _. _

 

“Whoa! Where’d you get the Blow Pops?” some kid called from behind them.

 

Blow Pop safely tucked into the inside of his cheek, Keith turned on his heel and looked at the kid. He had dark skin and a chubby form that donned a lot of sunshine yellow, and by ‘a lot’, Keith meant ‘ _ a whole lot’ _ . A little yellow headband circled the top of the kid’s head.

 

Lance was first to greet him. “Hey, I’m Lance, and this is my buddy Keith.” He slung his arm around Keith’s shoulders, sticking on them despite Keith’s forceful shrugs.

 

In his chest, Keith’s heart was beating rapidly from uneasiness. He didn’t like when people approached him because he never knew how to act around new people. Deciding to play it safe, Keith kept his face neutral and said nothing. It would seem rude, yes, but it was a better option than talking and embarrassing himself.

 

The boy smiled anyway. “Nice! My name is Hunk. I’m in the fifth grade.”

 

“Hey! So are we!” Lance bounced in his navy chucks giddily.

 

“Nice! So, tell me your secret: where did you find those Blow Pops? They look  _ so. Good. _ ”

 

“They are,” Lance confirmed, “We got them from Mr. Biibohbi. He’s over there.”

 

Keith finally mustered up the courage to join in on the conversation, deciding to point shyly to the principal to help Hunk on his way. He watched as Hunk quickly thanked them before running his way over to the lollipops.

 

Lance and Keith wallowed in comfortable silence for a while, watching people run back and forth and the growing line near the quite obviously terrified Mr. Biibohbi.

 

“New people are really hard for you, huh?” Lance finally said quietly.

 

Keith rolled his eyes, using two fingers to quickly pull out his Blow Pop. His neck started to feel warm— he was always insecure about his lack of people skills, and he hated being called out on it, even if it was good-natured and from someone he trusted like Lance. Being called out on your flaws was just not a good feeling and Keith did not care for it one bit.

 

“No duh, Sherlock,” Keith said, words wavering the slightest way.

 

“Well… that’s okay.”

 

_ Huh _ ? What was the even supposed to mean? Usually, Lance would tease good heartedly at Keith’s self-alienation, oblivious to the fact that it often accidentally made Keith uncomfortable. At least Keith knew how to respond to his teasing, though--- what the heck do you respond to ‘ _ well… that’s okay’ _ ?

 

Keith eyed him strangely. “ _ ‘Okay?’ _ What? _ ” _

 

_ “ _ Yeah.  _ It’s okay, _ ” Lance echoed. “Actually,  _ more _ than okay. ‘Cause you have me to help and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

He sounded sure. Like it was a fact.

 

Keith wasn’t sure what to say or think in response, but he did find a warm feeling in his chest that grew to seep warmth everywhere else. It felt nice. Like he finally absolutely and completely knew someone that wasn’t related to him had his back. Like he finally found someone who would respect him as a person. Like he found someone who could just maybe put up with Keith for longer than he previously thought.

 

Keith liked it.

 

But he still didn’t know what to say or think, so instead he did neither. He simply took his left hand and knocked his red best-friend ring gem to Lance’s blue one.

 

Lance looked at the rings and back to Keith’s face, which was as earnest as Keith could make it.

 

“Okay,” Lance said quietly. 

 

And okay it was.

 

;;;

 

Keith almost pissed his pants that day when Lance let out the excessively loud yell that practically shook the classroom.

 

He looked across the science room to see Lance jumping up and swatting at the back of his shirt. A grape Blow Pop erratically glided down the fabric of his shirt as he wiggled around, the grape trail in its wake stark against the royal blue of the shirt. Keith cringed at the scene: not only would Lance be pissed, but he’d also be embarrassed at the scene.

 

Someone--- Hunk, probably, from the amount of yellow the kid wore--- finally plucked the Blow Pop off the shirt. From the looks of it, the Blow Pop had been on the front of a chair that Lance was assigned to sit on, which started this whole series of unfortunate events.

 

Keith knew it seconds before it happened. See, Lance made this twisty face before he started to cry, this ugly expression that looked like he was intensely constipated or something. Keith heart always withered in a small strange way whenever that particular expression reared its ugly head on Lance’s face. So when Lance started to make the expression, Keith knew he had to do  _ something _ .

 

Lanca had said that he would have Keith’s back during recess only a few hours ago. Now, Keith figured, it was time for him to say it back, and Keith lived by the motto that actions spoke louder than words.

 

So he stood up and shouted, “ _ Star Wars is stupid! _ ”

 

Okay, that may seem stupid, but hear Keith out. He may not be good at people, but he had a vague idea of how they worked. He knew that (1) Star Wars was an iconic franchise, (2) kids had short attention spans, (3) his classmates loved arguing, and (4) Star Wars evicted strong feeling of hate or love in most viewers.

 

Besides, any day was a good day to start a classroom wide fight, right?

 

To somewhat his surprise, the classroom reacted exactly as Keith thought it would; insults and cries of disagreement were thrown in the air while cheers of agreement floated around as well. In less than a minute, his classmates were at each other’s throats, too preoccupied by arguing about Luke Skywalker and Emperor Palpatine to notice Lance asking to go to the bathroom while choking on tears.

 

Keith sauntered to his teacher who was giving him an evil eye as destruction reigned the classroom. “May I go to my locker?”

 

“Yes,  _ please _ go,” the teacher seethed, clearly in dislike of him. Oh well. Keith never really liked people in authority anyway. Their approval was worthless to him.

 

He sprinted out of the classroom that had now become a warzone, whizzing to his locker and getting out his jacket. Slinging the jacket over his shoulder, Keith ran down the hall and turned to meet Lance in front of one of the mirrors.

 

“And you said the jacket would be useless,” Keith said lightly.

 

Not to his surprise but still to his dismay, Lance was looking in the dirtied bathroom mirrors in front of the sink with tears on his face that left trails of wetness running from the corner of his eyes to his jaw.

 

“Everyone saw that,” Lance sniffled, “ _ Everyone _ .”

 

Lance’s sniffles echoed across the little bathroom. Keith walked up behind him, his face reflection siding up against Lance’s on the mirror. The streaks of dirt and scum on the mirrors made their faces look scarred.

 

Keith offered a little shrug. “Nobody paid attention. There’s no damage to your reputation, promise.”

 

“You sure? The fifth grade is very important, you know.” Lance sniffled again, wiping the tears that had pooled in his waterline. “Whatever happens here  _ matters _ , Keith. For, like,  _ forever. _ ”

 

Keith snorted. “I doubt that.”

 

“... What?”

 

This was probably a good time to mention that Keith still hadn’t got quite a grip on comforting people. Momentarily, Keith wondered if he should backtrack: clearly, Lance was feeling like Keith was dismissing his feelings. He worried his lip quickly before deciding to shovel on and explain himself.

 

“Come on, Lance. Nobody’s going to care a week from now about what happened today, much less in high school or ‘forever’.” Keith crooked his index and middle fingers and added air quotes at ‘forever’ to emphasize that he thought Lance was babbling nonsense. “If someone does remember and teases you, then that scumbag doesn’t deserve your tears anyway.”

 

A few beats passed without a word said until Lance finally relented a small mumble: “ _ I guess you’re right.” _

 

“Uh,  _ no _ . You  _ know  _ I’m right.”

 

Weakly, Lance laughed, wiping away final tears. “So what do I do about my shirt?” he asked, pointing down behind him, “It looks like someone had peed purple grape juice down my back.”

 

“That.. was unwanted and really weird imagery,” Keith said with a half-smile. He held out his arm, the red jacket he had gotten from his house draped over the crook of his elbow.

 

Lance had the audacity to pull a face. “It’s  _ red _ . Blue doesn’t match with red!”

 

“Well I’m _ sorry  _ I wasn’t exactly thinking of color themes when I picked up my jacket this morning.”

 

“That’s not good. You should  _ always  _ think about color themes.”

 

“Just put on the jacket, Lance!”

 

Sticking his tongue out as a final retaliation, Lance shouldered on the jacket. Keith had to fight a laugh from bubbling up his throat when he saw that Lance was very much correct: royal blue and bright red _did_ _not_ mix.

 

“ _ Ew _ ,” Lance said good-naturedly.

 

Keith just rolled his eyes and started to walk out of the bathroom. “Be grateful your best friend even had a jacket to give you to cover up your grape-juice pee stain.”

 

“Oh, I am grateful,” said Lance, momentarily sincere, “ _ But _ that doesn't change the fact I look like a colorblind homeless dude tried to pick out my clothes.”

 

Keith smiled.

 

;;;

 

“Dude. Are you growing a  _ mullet?” _

 

Disbelief was etched on Lance’s face, his tone incredulous, and Keith couldn’t help but huff exasperatedly. “How did you  _ just  _ notice that? I’ve been growing it for almost half a year!”

 

“I just thought you were being lazy, not trying to bring back a three-decade old hairstyle that should _ stay dead _ , mind you.”

 

Keith bit a small corner of his PB&J sandwich and swallowed before answering, “You just thought I did not go get a haircut for the past three months we’ve been in the fifth grade because I was being too  _ lazy _ ?”

 

“Keith, dude, I know you. You’d totally be the kind of person to do that.”

 

“Uh, no I wouldn’t.”

 

“ _ Uh-huh _ . You’d definitely do that. You’d probably say something like, ‘ _ Oh, Lance, why would I bother to cut my hair when I could be hurting myself with a sword or kung-fu-ing my brother?” _

 

“ _ Hey _ . It’s not my fault I take our fencing and  _ karate classes _ , not kung-fu, more seriously than you!” Keith crossed his arms. “How'd you get the name wrong anyway? We go to karate every Saturday.  _ Together.” _

 

“Kung-fu, karate, what’s the difference?”

 

“One has a panda, of course,” Hunk butted in, sitting down next to Lance and pulling out delicious food from his lunchbox. Dutifully, Hunk handed Keith and Lance some of the food, being the kind saint he is.

 

Ever since the Blow Pop incident, Hunk had joined Keith and Lance’s friend group. Before it was just the two of them, but now they had four in total: Lance, Keith, Hunk, and Pidge, a super smart girl that was two years younger than them on account of her skipping first and third grade. Keith was fairly sure that Hunk and Pidge were nicknames, but even during roll call the teachers called them that (though Pidge and Hunk’s families were well known around the city, so they still were nicknames) and neither Lance nor Keith bothered to ask their real names. They prefered Hunk and Pidge so Hunk and Pidge they were.

 

“Oh yeah! The panda. The only thing fun about martial arts…” Lance said.

 

Keith scowled, his nose wrinkling up to likely look like a pale raisin hanging out on the middle of his face. “That’s not true!”

 

Pidge plopped down beside Keith, the metal of her lunchbox clinging against the table loudly. Keith jumped in his seat.

 

“Do you guys ever stop bickering?” she questioned, “Or is this how you two are?”

 

“Have you  _ met  _ them?” Hunk asked.

 

“One:  _ rude _ , Hunk,  _ rude _ ,” Lance said, pausing only to scoop up a forkful of pasta in his mouth and swallow without chewing. “Two: what does bickering mean?”

 

Keith supplied, “Arguing irritatingly,” and delved further into his PB&J before smirking. “Also, Lance, chew before swallowing. You could choke.”

 

Lance shot him an unimpressed look.  _ “ _ Says the guy who  _ actually  _ choked on a peppermint in a barber shop —“

 

“—  _ You have to bring that up all the time, don’t you—“ _

 

_ “ _ — and had to get the Heimlich maneuver from his mom’s hairdresser.” Lance smiled, a mischievous grin that Keith kicked him under the table for. Lance yelped, dramatically pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like a damsel in distress before kicking Keith in the shin.

 

“What are we going to do with the two of you?” Hunk asked, throwing his hands up in the air like an exasperated babysitter.

 

Pidge said, “My idea is to shove the two of them in a closet and leave them to starve.”

 

Hunk tapped his chin thoughtfully, as if actually considering the murder of two of his best friends. “How would we get rid of the bodies, Pidge?” Hunk asked, snickering.

 

She flashed him a mischievous and said ominously, “Let’s just say I got that covered.”

 

Lance squawked loudly and the lunch monitor came to their table to shush them, during which Pidge and Hunk started laughing, unable to control themselves from snickering at Lance’s overdramatically betrayed face. Keith himself had to join in until their whole table was literally just of bunch of loud snickering children that refused to listen to the lunch monitors’ demands of silence.

 

It’s not a surprise their quartet got sent to the principal’s office in the middle of fifth grade for the third time that year.

 

“ _ Worth it _ ,” Pidge whispered as they walked upstairs to the principal door, Mr. Biibohbi undoubtedly waiting for them in the other side.

 

And even though Keith got enraged scolding and disciplining from his parents when he got home, Keith agreed.

 

_ Worth. It. _

 

;;;

 

“I can’t believe that Shiro’s going to college!” Lance exclaimed, stepping into Takashi’s  soon-to-be-abandoned room. “And that we’re almost done with fifth grade!”

 

Keith nodded in small jerks and shrugged his shoulders, a wash of sadness flowing over him. He was trying to be inconspicuous about his sadness that Takashi was leaving but judging from Lance’s expression when his eyes met Keith’s, he was failing at it.

 

“Hey, it’s okay for you to miss him,” Lance said, bumping his elbow against Keith’s side as a gesture of comfort, “Two of my brothers already left for college and I was  _ super _ sad when they left.”

 

Keith sniggered. “I know. You sobbed on my shoulder for days like a crybaby both times.”

 

“I know that was supposed to be offensive but I’ll just blame it on the pain you’re going through now and let it go,” Lance quipped back. “Besides, now I get to repay you! This time you can snot all over  _ my  _ shirt!”

 

“Uh, no thanks.”

 

“ _ Hey _ , I’ll have you know that my shoulder is great for sobbing into! Ronnie can back me up.”

 

“Because your three year old cousin is a great source,  _ right _ …”

 

Lance paused, about to counter, and let out a defeated sigh. “Point taken. She told me today that she was a fairy queen of all the rocks in our driveway.”

 

Keith snorted. “All hail Benita, fairy queen of the rocks in the McClain driveway.”

 

“She  _ is _ a queen,” Lance agreed, pushing past Keith. “But still, honestly, I’ll be there for any snot crying.” He smiled. “Shiro’s important to you and crying is okay, I’ll be there.”

 

“I know,” Keith said, a small smile barely there, and he knew it would be true.

**Author's Note:**

> END AUTHORS NOTE:  
> yes, i completely made up the whole ‘stargazing convention’ stuff. they do not exist, but they should so there it is ^^  
> again, this a pilot so kudos/subscriptions will prod me to continue!  
> If i do continue this based on reception, it’ll be one to three-ish weeks before I update again + the chapters will be longer. It’ll follow Keith and Lance thru their years: the next chapter would have younger Keith and Lance for a good chunk of it and then we get into the superhero/crush era which will make this slowww downnnn exponentially
> 
> ALSO IF U SKIPPED TEH NOTES AT THE TOP READ THOSE ASDFGHJKL


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